Sunspots
by Nerds United
Summary: Hopefully this will be a series of oneshots. 3rd shot is up! Someone loses her temper... A smash of glass against the wall and a delicate screech brought me running. Entitled: Mirror. Please read and review! Thanks!
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of the fabulous characters and/or settings of Crown Duel. I'm just playing.**

Tamara's smile was a sweet, sublime poison. Boys buzzed about her like flies, attracted by the sweetness. But they did not notice what lay beneath the surface, bubbling, boiling, just out of view. They did not see the ambition, the cold cunning, the shrewd calculation in every smile. They did not see the careful measurement she had taken.

She had an extensive lexicon of smiles: _Shy and maidenly_, _lively and dimpled._ Each variety had an exact measure of her trademark charm to best suit its purposes. A cup of sugar here. A pinch of spice there. A drop of sweet, saccharine venom, just for good measure. A recipe for perfection. After all, that's what she wanted—something to flaunt, something to prove her worth, something her glamorous mother could never have:

Perfection.

And if a little poison was necessary to get it, it seemed no great misfortune to her. The one thing—the one _person_—that she did not enter into her calculations was Russav.

She smiled with full, innocent blue eyes, drawing a leaf from her dictionary: _trembling and naive_. Instead of being struck dumb with love and lust, he grinned rakishly back.

Leaving _her_ struck dumb. _Like a lamb led to slaughter,_ she thought, horrified.

She hid her momentary lapse with her most brilliant smile, meant to dazzle, to stun, to addle his brains.

But his grin only widened and Tamara hid a dainty, clenched fist in her skirts.

It was war.

**A/N: Hope you enjoyed! All comments are welcome. I apologize for my brevity. A drabble wedged itself in the tiny space between the brain and the word document. I was powerless to stop it. Thanks for reading!**

**-music nerd**


	2. Sneeze

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

Meliara avoided him. He knew it. Else wise it would have been virtually impossible not to see her nearly every moment of every day (oh how he wished this was true.) The court moved as a cohesive unit, a circle of fluttering fans and saccharine smiles and double edged words.

He ached. It was exquisite torture simply existing without her. And the fear that he could never have her had lodged itself deep into his chest, like a great splinter meant to tear him apart. He hushed his anguished thoughts.

What was that tap? That light as air footfall of a slippered foot, that tiny, nigh indiscernible sound—did he dare to hope that it was the footstep of an angel outside the tapestry? He smiled wryly. It was certainly not the gallant step of his probing cousin. Did he dare hope that it was her shuddering sigh of relief that fluttered—ghostly, ethereal—against the drapery?

She batted it aside impatiently, her hair a brazen, bold halo of fire, crowning her head. She wore it well, as he hoped she would wear the crown of Remalna one day. Plain expression never failing, he dipped his quill and scratched some garbled words down with fervent delight, desperately containing his joy. Not that anyone could tell by looking at him. He looked up, thinking calm thoughts, though his heart (oh, the cliché!) beat out a rapid, tribal tattoo. The blood pounded in his ears.

He put down his pen and looked up inquisitively. She turned a ticklingly delightful pink. "Just returning a memoir," she muttered, trotting over to the shelf and jumping up on tiptoe to slide a hefty tome into place, raising a mighty cloud of dust.

_I must dust that sometime, _the Marquis thought absently.

She blinked, and then squeaked—he looked closer, no, _sneezed_—three times in rapid succession. He had never seen anything more endearing. She looked for all the world like a kitten opening its wide eyes with wonder to the world—

She crossed her arms uncomfortably. "I must be coming down with something," she said apologetically, frowning.

Oh, how he longed to say, _I am honored that such a lady would sneeze in my presence. You may sneeze in my presence whenever you like. _Oh, how he longed to sweep her off her feet and recite some gallant speech as Russav would—

He did neither of these things. Wordlessly, he smiled slightly and extended a handkerchief.

She looked surprised, but took his white flag of surrender. "Thank you," she managed. Then she fled.

"Something is better than nothing," the grinning Russav pointed out later.

Vidanric bent his head to hide a scowl.

**A/N: What can I say? I was never good at writing continual stories and I fancied a little something betwixt the lovely Countess and the lovesick Marquis. I threw Russav in for good measure. (grins)**

**This has no particular setting within the novel except that it is somewhere in the second half. I took the liberty of assuming that they chanced upon each other in the archive more times than specifically recorded in Mel's memoir. Make of it what you will. Reviews are, as always, appreciated. Suggestions, comments, and flames are all welcome here. My stove hasn't been working, so I could put those flames to good use making stew...**

**Thanks for reading!**

**-music nerd**


	3. Mirror

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything except for my fanfiction account, and even that is only half mine.**

A smash of glass against the wall and a delicate screech brought me running.

There was Tamara, sinking to her knees, staring—unseeing—at the shards of broken glass in her hands. Her elegant, well manicured hands, so carefully tended, seeped blood as she unthinkingly clenched her fragile fist about the glass. She trembled. I rushed forward. "My lady!" I snatched the broken shards from her hapless grasp. I led her like a lost lamb to the basin in the next room, dipping her hands in the cool water. The blood snaked out like insidious tendrils of smoke and then faded, finally disappearing. There was a brutal slice across her palm. I put some salve on it and bandaged both her hands, looking carefully into her face.

She was blank. The only emotion that flickered across her features was brief, ephemeral bewilderment. I shook my head. "My lady?" Her attention snapped back to me, but she could not look at me. Sparkling, quivering tears, like jewels, slid along her lashes in perfect droplets, and then went crashing to the ground. She looked crumpled, like a forgotten doll. Still she did not speak.

I let out my breath slowly. "Tamara," I put forth timidly. I had not used her first name since she was a child.

Her eyes finally locked with mine. "None of them love me, Kerael," she choked. Then she began to cry in earnest. "None of them know me."

I took her into my arms like the lost little girl she was and rocked her, humming folk songs and broken bits of melodies as a storm crashed overhead.

Tamara loved mirrors. Reassuring, they only spoke truth, and the truth was always that she was flawless. She had never broken one before. It never crossed my mind to think that perhaps she no longer saw beauty as two dimensional.

**A/N: Kerael is Tamara's maid. This is her POV. I took some liberties...**

**Please correct my grammar! All comments, good and bad, are cherished. Any ideas for other one shots are even more cherished. I apologize to those of you who do not have accounts and thus cannot review. My admin thinks it prudent.**

**I will be going away for a time soon, so I wanted to update before I left. :) Toodles!**


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